


Red Ribbons

by hanjizoes



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanjizoes/pseuds/hanjizoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Tie this around your finger, if you ever feel alone, remember: that ribbon, it's me, and as long as it's there, I'm not going anywhere.'<br/>Jean Kirschtein was always alone, always neglected, always ignored. Until Marco Bodt moved in next door and Jean was never lonely again, but that happiness was snatched away from him as soon as he'd got it. Left with only a ribbon on his finger and philosophy quotes, Marco joined the army, leaving Jean to deal with paranoia he couldn't ignore. "Are we always condemned with such horrible fates?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> ~don't worry this is only the prologue!~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~don't worry this is only the prologue!~

I closed my eyes, tightly enough, putting as much force into it, and wound up staring at blood behind my eyelids. It was a scene that flashed before my eyes, a crazy heinous feeling that washed over me, and before I knew it all I saw was red. It was dark red too, thick and nasty, dripping around me like glue. I didn’t have to guess what it was, I knew it was blood, since that’s all I saw these days. I no longer controlled my senses, they had a mind of their own, controlling me, attacking me, telling me what to do and what to see. I didn’t enjoy this involuntary act that my body held against me, it only made me want to bash my head against every wall in the universe.

Screams burst around me, his and mine, they mingled and clattered to form a symphony of painful noises that shattered my eardrums. We screamed till there was nothing left but strep throats and weak voices. I knew I would regret this in the morning, when the sun peaked from under the hills and made it’s way to the empty skies. The sun usually painted a serene picture, so odd yet so beautiful, and I could do nothing but stare at it. The screams worsened to screeches of absolute horror and I couldn’t take it anymore. I let my hands glide over my ears, to drown out the screams, but they wouldn’t stop, cause I was hearing it in my head. I was screaming so much I felt everyone stare at me as if I was a madman. But I didn’t care, I didn’t want to care. I wanted to be isolated and alone, but this shameful world didn’t allow it.

I opened my eyes, just squinted slowly to adjust to the brightness around me, only to realize that the day was almost coming to an end. The red ribbon tied around my ring finger was beginning to slip off and fall to the ground. I’d tied it so tightly that the skin around the ribbon had transformed into a horrid, vile shade of purple and blue. I let the red ribbon fall, not bothering to cherish it in any way, it’s purpose was no longer important, so I let it slip away from my reach. By then the crowd that surrounded me had thinned and their confused glares turned into looks of annoyance and boredom. I’d rather have them bored than watch me like I was a live animal, caged for their entertainment, the never ending live-show of Jean Kirschtein, the hallucinating maniac.

The weather was getting colder, and as I anticipated the rainfall, I was gravely disappointed. Snow fell around me like confetti at a birthday party, fluttering in the air and dancing in the wind. It seemed so romantic and elegant, a glorifying scene that on any normal day, I would treasure for a lifetime. But it was anything but elegant and romantic to me. It only increased the ice cold feeling inside my chest, multiplying it by a million and spreading throughout my insides like a contagious virus. My mom used to tell me that the snow was the angels tears and the rain was God’s tears. I asked her why rain was such a miserable, angry weather compared to snow and she didn’t give me an answer. I knew the answer now. It wasn’t a religious question of course, but a mere act of uncontrollable curiosity. God’s tears were tears of fury, He cried out in anger when the world had gone mad, and the angels, well, that was another story. Their tears were complex, a mix of emotions all wrapped in one, unidentifiable to the naked eye. But deep down I wondered why the hell it felt like opposite day.

Today was the worst day of my life, the day my life reached it’s lowest and even lower than it had been years ago. I expected tears of fury, not angelic sparkles waltzing before my eyes. It did not satisfy me to think that my feelings were no longer important, it basically told me that I needed to get off my ass and get over it. But why should I? Why would I? There was nothing to go back to. My life was miserable already, and today made it even worse than it had been before. I was happy, don’t get me wrong, but life works in mysterious ways that not even the greatest of philosophers can decipher. At the word philosophers, my stomach tumbled and my heart clenched. I was suddenly seeing blood again, and my eyes weren’t even closed. It all came back in flashes, a slideshow of perfect memories, so perfect it could’ve been a movie. My movie. Our movie.

My knees gave in and I fell on the cold concrete, barely caring that my skin had scraped against the ground, drawing blood and staining my pants. I searched around in the snow, hoping to find the ribbon I’d had so carelessly lost in my unstable state, but it was nowhere to be found. My fingers were getting number and number as I searched and searched, hoping that I would feel it’s soft silk in my hands, but all I felt was the snow digging inside my fingernails. Seconds, minutes, hours later, I gave up, just as I always did. The snow fell, the signs of a blizzard on it’s way, but I sat in my place and cried. I didn’t need God’s tears of fury, I had my own.


	2. Inevitable Fates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say that this chapter deals with more than one time period (some being hours but it's mostly years). If you see "***" after a scene it's just a time shift. I just wanted to point that out in case you got confused along the way. I hope you like the story and enjoy~!

**12 years ago**

 

I was staring out the window, the first signs of autumn barely within my reach. The green, effervescent leaves were slowly morphing to incredible shades of red, orange and yellow. A new season. Another season where my life sucked even more than it already did. I’d discarded my video game long ago, and ignored my mom calling me downstairs, and enveloped myself in the beginnings of Fall and, hopefully, it’s potential wonders. It’s not like nature fascinated me, but when you’re sitting alone in your room with nothing but your loud hormonal teenage thoughts, what else are you going to do? 

 

I was so engrossed in the trees I’d been staring at for the past hour that I almost didn’t hear the sound of a truck parking across the road. It was a big one too, the type people used to move into a new house or move away from a new house. Of course I was right about the former, we had new neighbors, and I was completely disinterested by the entire matter. The neighbor that used to lived in that house had suffered a terrible loss in the family and had to live with some family friends. I didn’t know the Ackermans and it wasn’t like Mikasa Ackerman was the ever-so-friendly type, she tolerated me as a much as she could and that was it. We all attended her parent’s funeral, with curt nods and awkward hugs, and fake mourning for people we didn’t know. My mom knew them, at least she acted like she did, she attempted to cry when she got the news about their untimely death, but like every other person in Trost, it was a sadness no one truly felt.

 

There was nothing to do at this point but stare at the people moving in next door, and hope they weren’t the type that screamed when everyone was asleep and had a loud dog that barked at all hours. Soon enough a small blue car parked behind the truck and two adults came out with a boy by their side. I couldn’t really see him from this distance but he looked like he was smiling, a bit too hard for my liking, and he appeared to be my age, unfortunately. My dissatisfied expression didn’t change even as they got into their new home and closed the door behind them, permanently claiming the Ackerman house as their own. 

 

***

 

“Jean! Jean! Would you come down here please?” I listened to her wailing my name at the top of her lungs, and knowing her, she wouldn’t even bother checking my pulse if it was necessary. I decided to put her out of her misery and head on downstairs to see what the hell she was making such a fuss about. “Jean!! How many times do I have t– oh, you heard me then? I’d just like to tell you that we have some new neighbors and I just happened to make an extra batch of brownies so be a darling and go take it to them.”

 

“Why? Your brownies are always half-burnt. What makes you think people would actually enjoy eating _that._ ” I scold, I know I’m being harsh and annoying, but I can’t help it. At least I tell myself I can’t.

 

“Stop being so rude, I’m your mother not your friend. It’s disrespectful not to greet new neighbors and you have a way with words that I don’t, so try to be presentable and welcome them to the neighborhood. It’s not _that_ hard Jean.”

 

I mumbled curse words under my breath, making sure my mom didn’t hear me. I stalked off to the kitchen and grabbed the tray of brownies, half-burnt just as I predicted, and walked out the house, making sure I left with a dramatic door-slam to emphasize my annoyance. The roads were quiet and if somewhat serene, and I could’ve reveled in the beauty of the rare silence, but I had a mission and if I didn’t leave a good impression on these “new neighbors” I’d be holding this weight on my shoulder for as long as my mother made burnt brownies.

 

I decided to ring the doorbell and knock once, just to make it clear that I had no intention of overstaying my welcome. Deliver the brownies. Welcome them to the neighborhood. And get the fuck out of here. But apparently the Fates were against me because the door was opened by the new boy next door, who happened to be, in fact, my age. My stomach tumbled before I could stop it, and if you asked me why, I would’ve been too speechless to say anything. The boy I’d seen from my room did in fact have a permanent smile etched on his face, and it was so wide and contagious that I couldn’t help but feel my lips twitch upwards as well. He had dark hair that was slicked back in a way that didn’t make him look like he was trying too hard to look classy but just a regular teenage boy. His dark eyes twinkled, reminding me of stars and other things that gleamed in the sky, and his cheeks were filled with tiny freckles, distinguishing him from most of the people I’d met. 

 

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” I barely choked out, it came out more of a frog croaking than a human speaking really. “I hope you like it here, and umm...” _Why am I nervous? Why can’t I feel my knees? Would the guy stop smiling?_ “My mom made some brownies, excuse the taste she likes chocolate with a little burn on the side.”

 

The boy laughed as if I’d said the funniest thing in the world, “Thank you, I’m sure we’ll enjoy it. I’m Marco by the way. Marco Bodt. I’d say we just moved in but that would be pretty stupid since that’s why you came here in the first place. And you are?” 

 

“And I’m what?” I asked stupidly.

 

“Your name? What is it?”

 

“I’m Jean. Jean Kirschtein. Enjoy the brownies.” I rambled and turned around, hurriedly attempting to run back home before I embarrassed myself further. 

 

“What’s the rush? I’d like to get to know other kids in the neighborhood, makes me feel less of the new kid, you know?”

 

“No, not really. Look, I’m not trying to be rude, I’d honestly love to stay and chat but I’ve got a lonely video game upstairs waiting to be played and you seem to still need time settling in, so I’ll leave you to your duties...” I walked away before he could insist I stay, controlling me with that ever-so-wonderful smile, but I made a mistake and turned around and shouted over my shoulder, “Enjoy the brownies Marco!” His name rolled off my tongue with such ease and familiarity as if we’d known each other in some other life. _What are you even talking about, you just said his name, jeez Jean, get over it!_ My inner voice scolded me all the way back to my bedroom and even as I returned back to my abandoned video game, the voice still nudged the edges of my brain. 

 

It was then that I decided that I would have to avoid Marco Bodt. It was a determination that had forecasted itself inside my brain, I blamed it on the voice inside my head, but truly, I just avoided blaming myself. Marco Bodt seemed like a nice enough guy, two minutes were enough to tell me that, and I, was not a nice guy. Friends and acquaintances weren’t my sort of thing, I’ve always kept to myself, voicing my opinions when necessary and stepping out of my personal shadow when the time called for it. I acted like I was any better than the quiet but deadly Mikasa Ackerman but in an odd way we were alike. I didn’t know her well enough to come to that conclusion but I’d known the girl since elementary school, that pretty much sold the internal argument I was having.  

 

I didn’t know exactly why I was so adamant at cutting any future ties with this new guy, I barely knew him. Actually I knew him for a span of nothing and he was already having this affect on me. I didn’t like it and I didn’t want it. I didn’t fear change, that wasn’t necessarily the thing, not even close, but I wasn’t about to admit it either. So I spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling and plotting incredible ways to keep Marco out of my way and I prayed to whatever God was out there that he would not enroll in my school. If he did, operation “Avoid Marco Bodt” would fail miserably before it even started.

***

 

The next morning was a typical one. My mom and dad sat next to each other, reading from the same newspaper, fighting over politics and economics and stuff I genuinely didn’t give a shit about, while I grabbed some toast and walked out without a goodbye. My parents decided long ago, a silent telepathic discussion that I couldn’t hear, that I, their dear son Jean, meant nothing to them. Of course every teenager feels neglected, sometimes going overboard on what sort of neglect they’re enduring, but I assure you, my neglect was too obvious to ignore. They called my name when they needed me and asked about school when they felt like they had to, like their phones sent them a daily memo saying: “Remember you have a son named Jean, ask him about school and then get on with your life.” 

 

My parents moved away from Europe a million years ago, you can’t even tell that they’re European anymore. The cycle might’ve been reversed if they still lived there but I didn’t bother with silly “what-ifs” and went on with my life as it was. 

 

I rode the bus in silence, sitting next to a short blond kid with a God-awful haircut. He said hello when I sat next to him, as if he knew me, but I had no clue who the guy was. Before I could bother to ask him his name the bus stopped and I got off, my steps slowing as I got closer to the Gateways of Hell, or in other words, school. My steps were quick and steady, I moved like a panther with the grace of a gazelle, and I tried to remain unseen. I hurriedly went to my desk and sat down, taking out my books and pens. 

 

“Hey...” someone whispered behind me. I ignored the voice, knowing who it was. “Yo Jean.. hey... Psst... Jean!” 

 

I turned around fast enough to make the guy flinch, “What the hell do you want Connie?” 

 

“Dude jeez calm down, I was just going to ask you if you saw the new kid?”

 

“What new kid?” I asked, my heartbeat quickened without me realizing it.

 

Before Connie could verify who the hell the newbie was, our teacher walked in, suited up as usual with a serious look on his face that never faded. And next to him stood none other than Marco Bodt. The coincidence was so terrifyingly obvious I could do nothing but feel absolutely annoyed for the rest of the day. Marco was introduced to the class, he said some stuff about himself, and the day progressed as usual, with the exception that I was the only one Marco knew. 

 

“Hey Jean, fancy running into you here, huh?” Marco told me as he walked beside me after the end of second period. “Neighbors _and_ classmates, funny coincidence don’t you think?” 

 

“The funniest,” I muttered under my breath. I resisted the urge to scream, my plan to avoid him for the rest of my life was heading nowhere, he was like a bandaid you couldn’t rip off. He didn’t even annoy me, he was just _there_ , and I guess that’s what horrified me the most. 

 

“So, since you’re the only one I know here, would you mind showing me around? If it’s too much trouble I’ll fin –”

 

“Yeah sure,” I said before he could finish his sentence. The answer was so instant with had absolutely no hint of hesitation, that it even surprised Marco for a second. He smiled at me, with that smile that made his whole face glow, and I proceeded to show him around. 

 

The tour took about 15 minutes but it felt like years. Time slowed on the clocks in my mind, and as I showed Marco everything from the bathrooms to the cafeteria, his eyes studied me with a curious gaze I’d never seen on anyone before. I tried to avoid looking at him but I found it impossible to do and we wound up throwing tiny glances at each other that I couldn’t explain. 

 

“So,” I said, starting a conversation before things got too awkward for anything to progress. “What are you interested in Marco?”

 

“Philosophy,” he answered quickly.

 

“What?” 

 

“Philosophy; the study of the fundamental nature of  reality, existence, knowledge, values, reason, mind, and language, you know?”

 

“No I don’t actually... I’m only fourteen Marco, I barely know calculus let alone a subject we don’t take at school.”

 

“ _‘Wishing to be friends is quick work, but friendship is a slow ripening fruit.’_ Aristotle, one of the greatest philosophers the world has ever had. I can quote others but you’re probably not interested, philosophy requires a mindset of someone that actually enjoys this, and here I am forcing my nerd on you.”

 

“No, no, I don’t mind... I mean I don’t know much about that but there’s no harm in learning something new, right?” And the voice in my head began to scold me as soon as those words left my mouth, but I drowned it out by talking to Marco, and that voice slowly started to back off. There was something about the way Marco defined philosophy that interested me, I couldn’t quite tell my exact emotion then but I’d figured it was simple curiosity, of course looking back I was wrong.

 

The day flew by sooner than I’d expected and whatever idiotic reason I’d made up in my mind to avoid Marco were silenced and tucked away and I had no reason to bring them back to the surface. He sat next to me on the bus on our way back home and we hadn’t realized we reached home until the driver had to honk the horn a couple of times to catch our attention. We stood on the open road, knowing no cars would pass by, and continued to talk about nothing in particular. He told me about himself, the things he didn’t mention in school. He was an only child, always had been, like me. His parents decided to move here to start fresh, he didn’t specify why and I didn’t feel like I had a right to ask. He talked more about philosophy and he was so into it that I don’t think he realized that he was beginning to ramble absolute nonsense. The sun was beginning to set and my knees started to ache and my calfs were cramping, but a small part of me didn’t want this conversation to end, not now, not ever. 

 

But eventually Marco’s mom opened the door and told him he had to come in and it was getting late. Marco’s smile didn’t waver the entire time we spoke, I couldn’t help but notice that, and he bid me a goodnight as we both walked to our separate houses. I locked the front door behind me and made my way to the kitchen. The smell of cooked food wafted around me, reaching my sinuses and making me realize how hungry I was. There were still some pots left on the stove and when I eagerly opened them, they were all empty, nothing but scraps of what my parents had already eaten. I didn’t want to think lowly of them yet so I opened the fridge, holding on to the hope that there were some possible leftovers. Nothing. They left me nothing. 

 

“So you couldn’t have left me any dinner?” I told them as they sat on the sofa watching one of their stupid tv shows. 

 

“Oh,” they both said in unison. “We assumed you’d be having dinner at your friend’s house,” my dad said. 

 

I gave them a look that I hope burnt holes through their conscience, “I don’t _have_ any friends Dad.” I scowled and stalked off to my room before I could further embarrass them with the truth. I wrapped my bed sheet tightly around my body, tightly enough to drown out the voices of my stomach’s uncontrollable rumbling, and let my thoughts consume me. My parents were the least of my worries and I was the least of theirs so I found my mind flashing pictures of a smiling boy with freckles. Marco. He was the only decent person I knew, and I’d only known him for 2 days, but already he was leaving such a heavy impact on me. I fell asleep with his face still implanted in my brain and my mouth murmuring Aristotle’s quote. 

 

We didn’t know it then but the day after I met Marco Bodt, nothing was ever the same to me. I spent my entire beginnings of high school trying to figure Marco Bodt out, he wasn’t a mystery, he wasn’t a Rubik’s cube I wanted to learn how to solve. He was a blooming ball of light in a empty pit of darkness, a tiny little lantern in the depths of an abandoned cave, and I didn’t know it then either, but Marco would be the only person I ever cared about. And as I slept silently and peacefully that night, the Fates were doing their magic, and I wasn’t going to be the lonely neglected boy anymore. 

 

***

I was sound asleep, my dreams a series of memories that had collected over the years, until I was annoyingly awoken by tiny rocks being thrown on my windowsill. Marco. Typical, cheesy, I-want-to-wake-you-up, Marco. I got up, shoved the blanket away from my sweaty body, and tiptoed downstairs to the front door. 

 

I wasn’t worried about my parent’s hearing us, they excelled at being heavy sleepers. It was good at times like these, when you wanted to sneak your best friend into the house, and other times, when there’s a burglar stealing everything, it’s not necessarily the best thing in the world. 

 

I unlocked the front door and pulled Marco inside, and just as I was about to scold him for visiting me at this hour I looked at his face. Three years had passed since Marco moved in next door, three years since our friendship evolved and morphed into something we couldn’t even decipher, three glorious memorable years that I wouldn’t take back in any way. He grew taller, as did I, we both abnormally grew together to the point where it freaked us out immensely. But I could sense something was wrong. Marco wasn’t _Marco._

 

My eyes travelled all over his unmoving body, from his stiff posture and his fists that were clenched at his side, to his pajama pants and his bare chest. They looked at his every single feature and finally landing on his face, and that’s when I knew something was wrong. His freckled cheeks glistened with something wet, his tears, and the permanent smile on his face was replaced by a clattering jaw, he was shivering from head-to-toe. His dark eyes cried salty tears and they poured down his face like raindrops on an umbrella, over his cheeks, down his chin and splattering on the hardwood floors. He didn’t sob and he didn’t utter a sound, he just shook so hard I thought my heart was going clammer right out of my chest. 

 

I grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him towards me, not asking any questions, I just wrapped my arms around him. Marco made no attempts to hug me back and I didn’t force him to, whatever just happened to him, not even one of our rare hugs could fix. I let go of him and grabbed his hand, unclenching his fist and dragging him upstairs to my room. In the three years that I’d known him he’d been to my room more times than I could count. He’d stayed over for takeout dinners, because my parents still forgot I lived in the house, more times than I could count. And he knew every dent and every scratch in my room and yet I still wasn’t brave enough to make the first move.

 

While I locked the door and made him sit on my bed, I tried to act as calm as I could, because that’s what he needed to see. Calm Jean. Calm, serene, I’m-not-going-to-freak-out-right now, Jean. But my heart was hammering against my chest, my pulse was skyrocketing and I couldn’t do anything but stare at him and try to do my best to soothe him without uttering a word. We sat in silence, him shaking, me acting calm, and the darkness shadowing our faces. I wanted to say something, I was worried and I was about to lose it more than he was, but nothing would come out of my mouth. Not a word, not a phrase, not a sentence. And while my mind rushed to find the perfect thing to say at a time like this, one of the rare and only times I’d ever seen Marco cry, I quoted philosophy. 

 

“ _‘Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it.’_ ” 

 

“Did you just quote Hellen Keller?” Marco croaked out, breaking his unbearable silence.

 

“She’s no Plato or Aristotle but she was one wise woman....” I trailed off, not knowing what to say now that I’d opened a conversation. I didn’t want to ask him why he was crying, why he came to _me_ crying, why he had broken every bit of composure and come to me in the middle of the night to weep on my shoulders. We weren’t the boys we used to be three years ago, we hadn’t matured either, we were growing into something and that something was unidentifiable to the both of us. 

 

“What happened?” I finally asked him, curiosity overwhelmed me and I couldn’t stop myself. 

 

“Nothing,” he said, and I really felt like punching him after he said it.

 

I sighed, waited for an actual explanation, and when I didn’t get one I stood and walked to my bedroom door, unlocking it and swinging it open, it swung hard enough to come in contact with the walls. Marco flinched and I huffed. 

 

“If you’re going to sit there and expect me to read your mind then you’re gravely mistaken. I might know a couple of philosophical quotes but that’s only because you made me memorize them, and you know for a fact I’m not a philosopher or in fact a fucking mindreader. So please tell me what the hell is going on before I kick you out of my house.”

 

I knew I’d gone a little too far, maybe a bit overboard, but I was fuming and I couldn’t help it. Marco thought he could waltz in here, tears streaming down his face, his body shivering like he just came back from Antarctica, and give me absolutely no explanation as to why he was so upset. Marco was never upset. He was insecure, yes. He grew agitated sometimes, yes. He got overly defensive about philosophy, yes. But he didn’t cry, and here I was, standing there like a fool, worried sick like a mother, and he didn’t even want to explain himself. 

 

Marco surprised me by getting up, he’d stopped shivering, but his tears were still evident. He walked towards me, pushing me lightly away from the entrance to my room and closing the door softly. I was too speechless to say anything, my anger disintegrated as soon as it had risen, as he made me sit down on the mess that was my bed, tangling myself in thick blankets and soft sheets. He inched closer to me until his breath was tingling my face, he got closer, until his chin was on my shoulder and he whispered to nothing in particular.

 

“I love you Jean Kirschtein.”

 

Something happened then, I don’t know what it was or how it happened but if I dug deep enough in my brain I could still recall the feeling. It was a twist in my stomach, a knot that had come undone and was slowly tightening again. My chest was pumping and my throat clenched, I found myself trying to exhale but choking in the process. My body felt like stone, I’d turned into a statue, and Marco stayed like that, his chin on my shoulder, waiting for me to say something. 

 

The voice in my head rose again, scolding me like the child I was, the child I was acting. Truth was, I didn’t mature, I was still the weak and insecure preteen I’d been three years ago, and I wondered when I was going to change. Marco had reversed my cycle of neglect, opening his arms of friendship and wrapping me tightly in his care, and making me feel like I hadn’t been lonely my entire life. But here I was, sitting in his arms, a confession rolling off his tongue, and I sat there like the idiot that I was, doing absolutely nothing.

 

I knew he was waiting for me to say something, anything, just to even remotely tell him that I was still alive and breathing next to him. Instead I remained silent, allowed my thoughts cloud my vision, my fear to control my senses, and my undeniable admiration for the boy in my arms to twist and turn and tumble around my every nerve. His chest was thumping against mine, his heartbeat was a rhythm, a melody, a sound that I wanted to memorize forever but I knew I didn’t have the courage to do so. Not now. And especially not at 2:00am. Marco rarely grew impatient, and as the clock on my bedside table ticked, he whispered something else in my ear; a typical Marco move.

 

“ _‘Love is the joy of the good, the wonder of the wise, the amazement of the Gods.’_ I’d tell you who said that but I think you already know... At least I assume you do...” Marco trailed off, his sentence incomplete, his chin moving up and down against my shoulder bone. I ached to confess, to utter, to speak, but my mouth was left hanging open, breathing in the lukewarm air. “So... Jean... I mean I know I probably caught you off guard but ‘I love you’ usually comes with an answer, any form of one, words or actions.” He pulled back, moved a few inches away from me, and stared outside my bedroom window. He didn’t want me to see his face, the frowning face with the painted tears, and here I was sitting here like some nervous kid waiting for the right moment to say the right thing.

 

“Goddamn it Marco,” I grumbled, that got his attention, making him turn around to face me. I was right, the frown was still there, the tears were still glistening. “You can’t just spring that on me in the middle of the night and not expect me to freak out...” I lied. 

 

“Oh. Well.. I’m sorry Jean. I’m sorry I wasted your time,” he sighed, it didn’t even sound like anger, or annoyance, he sounded tired and fed up. And he did the most un-Marco thing ever, he got up to leave, and I knew then that if I just sat on my ass and watched him walk away I’d regret it forever.

 

I jumped off the bed and scurried to his side, my hand reached out to his shoulder, spinning him around quickly before he could change his mind. My hands were on the sides of his face in an instant, and then, with an eagerness I’d held back for so long, I finally kissed Marco Bodt. His lips collided with mine, a nuclear explosion, a metaphorical bomb went off in my mind. _Are you actually doing this? Are you actually kissing him?_ I silenced the voice before it did any more damage. And I kissed him like the world was about to end. I kissed him in the middle of my messy bedroom, with the curtains open, the windows shut, the door closed and the lamp on my bedside table flickering in the background. I broke the kiss before he decided to do anything else.

 

“I love you too, Marco Bodt.” 

 

It was then that we realized that for all those three years we’d been harboring an intense feeling that we didn’t even know existed. It was tugging at the surface, just at the tip, screaming and crying to get out, but we’d silenced it for so long. We silenced it when our fingers accidentally touched on our bus rides back home. We silenced it when Marco took me to the park and showed me the stars. We silenced it when I’d had one of the worst fights with my parents, and I’d come to him crying instead of the other way around. And here we were, breaking that silence.

 

For the rest of the night we kissed, nothing more and nothing less, no words and no expressions. I kissed his tears away, one by one till they were all gone, and salt water still lingered on my lips. And we slept in each other arms, his head tucked beneath my chin, our fingers intwined in a maze of yearning. It was after I fell asleep, and after I woke up the next morning that I realized one thing. I still hadn’t known why Marco came to me crying. 

 

***

Days, weeks, months and soon years passed by, sooner and quicker than we expected. It seemed like after Marco and I finally admitted our feelings for each other the hands on the clocks decided to speed up. Shortening time and making the hours flow by like seconds. After we both graduated we decided to stay in our respective houses, no need to rush things, especially when I was as nervous as I’d ever been. My parents of course, were completely oblivious to the fact that I had a boyfriend, and to the fact that we occasionally made out in my bedroom. Sometimes it felt good to be neglected. 

 

“What’re we doing today?” Marco asked me.

 

Spring was drawing to a close, the flowers had bloomed and now they were withering, preparing for the heat to come. It had been an eventful couple of years, with me trying to figure out the whole thing between me and Marco and letting people, my nasty parents included, acknowledge the fact that I was actually with him. We used to get nasty looks down the hallways every now and then, some signs of respect, others didn’t even know we existed. I liked my life right then, at that moment, with Marco standing on my front porch asking me the same question he’d asked me every Saturday afternoon for almost six years, I was happy. 

 

“How about we take a swim in the abandoned pool? You know, the one I told you about a few weeks ago... And no skinny dipping mister!” I added as an afterthought before Marco got any ideas and wanted to get awkwardly kinky. 

 

He laughed, a chuckle that I’d gotten used to. His laugh filled the air around me, another type of unidentified oxygen, that allowed me to inhale and exhale gracefully, merging with joyful thoughts that I didn’t know were existent in my messy brain. “Don’t worry Jean,” he said, still laughing. “Skinny dipping is not something I’m interested in.... yet.” he pretended to whisper that last word to himself.

 

I ignored his obvious “yet” and we proceeded to walk to his car. He handed me the keys without saying anything, trusting me enough to drive his crappy old Mustang. When we got there it was a patch of deserted land with green grass slowly forming to yellow crisps and for some odd reason someone decided to build a pool there. It was as weird as digging for a pond in a beach. The water was cold, filled with leaves from the trees nearby, but Marco and I stripped to our underwear anyways. Before we could even think twice we held hands tightly and jumped. The water streamed inside my body, it was filling me to the very core, and I liked it. We soon got used to the intensely cold feeling of the water and had a bit of fun. Kisses mingled with splashes of water, and underwater dives with a significant amount of touching that neither one of us could control. 

 

When we both had our fun we finally stopped, our backs floating on the water, the light breeze tickling our toes. We hadn’t discussed university, we hadn’t even discussed our futures, and I had a feeling we were about to do that now. It was the perfect moment and the perfect time, the silence was gut-wrenching but it had an eerie feeling to it, a slight seriousness that I didn’t like one bit. I waited for Marco to say something, because I was definitely not going to talk about our future, and whether or not I’d be in it.

 

“Do you ever think about it Jean?” he finally asked, but I’d misinterpreted. 

 

“Think about what Marco?” I asked back, just in case, I needed to be sure what he was talking about here.

 

“About the world.”

 

I sighed, not knowing if it was for relief of the topic, or annoyance that he didn’t know how important this was to me. “What about the world? That it’s one giant shit-hole?” 

 

“No... not that. Have you ever thought about the world itself, how many worlds there are? Maybe there’s not just one Earth but multiple Earths in the universe? I’m not talking statistics here or impossibilities. Just think about it for a second, what if we’re just holograms of our past or future selves, and we have this inevitable fate that we can’t control. Do you believe in that Jean?” 

 

“You’re rambling again Marco,” I reminded him before he got carried away.

 

“I’m not rambling Jean...” he breathed out, agitated I noted. “I know when I ramble and this isn’t one of those times.”

 

“Go on then, don’t let my stupidity stop you.”

 

“I’ve always had theories in my head, philosophical or not, and they’ve always been questioned as I got older. Our existence, our knowledge, our emotions. Big “what-ifs” that shouldn’t be “what-ifs”. Do you believe in the afterlife Jean? I never asked you that.. I’ve known you for six years and I can’t believe I’ve never asked you that.”

 

“Touchy subject, I don’t know what to say...”

 

“Yeah... forget I said anything about that. I guess it’s the whole world that interests me and I feel like telling you this because I know all these years you’ve probably never understood why I talk about philosophy so much and knowing who I fell in love with I can tell you tried but never reached a conclusion.” He was right. “It’s the whole universe that’s one big mystery and there are so many things I want to know about the world. About the wonders it has and it’s faults. How many planets are there really? How many lives have we lived? Are we condemned with useless fates?” 

 

The water was slowly filling my ears, I wanted to interrupt him and tell him that I needed to get out of the pool before I passed out, but I didn’t dare tell him to stop talking. Not when he was talking about something this important, something I knew he cared about immensely, even more than me.

 

“Anyways... Getting back to it... Did you know what Plato once said? He’s a greek philosopher after all, and he said, _‘_ _According to greek mythology, humans were originally created with 4 arms, 4 legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.’_ Isn’t that beautiful? Isn’t that so unbearably tragic? I read that when I was six years old and I’d spent all my years trying to find that one person that completed me, that made me whole, that connected to me like a lock and key. This sounds so cheesy and so incredibly cliche I hope you’re not rolling your eyes right now... But you’re my other half Jean. Don’t worry I don’t want you to say anything since I’m pretty sure you’ll throw up so it’s okay, let me finish.”

 

I let him finish, while I felt the pulse in my neck quickening, but I let him finish anyways. 

 

“Believe it or not Plato also said. _‘How can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the waking state?’_ I’ve always been worried about that you know... Whether we’re actually awake or just sleeping? I wonder if you’re just this huge dream because these past few years have felt nothing but a dream. A 6-year long dream, true, but an incredible one. I don’t second-guess myself as much as I used to, like when I told you I loved you in your room. Or when I kissed you in front of your parents and they were so shocked they almost kicked us out of the house. I was second-guessing my decisions then and I’m second-guessing them now. I hate that. How I’m so unsure of the world, and all it has to offer.

 

“I just hope you realize... I just want you to understand,” he choked out, and that’s when I realized he was crying. After three years I thought I’d buried the memory. The memory of him crying in my arms and me kissing the pain away, whatever it might’ve been that had caused it. But it was rising to the surface, just as Marco’s tears were right now. His painful sobs were muffled and as soon as I decided to turn to him he’d already gone underwater, to cry in silence, to cry alone. 

 

The stupid, annoying voice demanded I go underwater and help him, soothe him as I did those few years ago. But I was too paralyzed to move and too shocked to register what was happening around me. I wanted to yell and scream at the trees, at the universe, at everything, because I was so utterly confused and I wanted it to end. When I finally got some sense into me Marco had already come back. I couldn’t tell if the drops on his face were tears or the water we were swimming in. 

 

He refused to look at me then, as he did that night, and I got out of the pool, dragging him with me. Marco looked surprised at my force, but that surprise only lasted a second until he was back to the happy, regular Marco I knew. His face immediately went back to the joy that appeared to me before he cried, before he broke down again. Marco was smiling so widely I thought his face might split and break into two. I wanted to shake him, and I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to slap the living crap out of him but also I just really wanted him to finally tell me what was going on, because I was tired of being the closest person to him yet having no idea what he was going through.

 

“Please don’t do that,” I begged, dropping to the floor, crossing my legs, staring at his knees. “Don’t act like everything’s fine, because you were crying just then. I’m a big boy Marco, I can take it. I love you and I can take it.”

 

“What are you talking about? Nothing’s wrong?” he said, trying to assure me as he sat in front of me. Pieces of grass started to cling to my thighs and the sun behind us was slowly setting, and as I sat there facing him, facing the only man I’d ever trusted with my life, I wanted to run away. He was lying, and he was attempting to do a good job at it too, but he was failing. Marco rarely lied and I almost lost it as he sat there with that sweet, loving smile on his face.

 

“Okay, I’ll play along, that’s what you want isn’t it? Come on Marco... Who are you trying to fool here? I’m not my parents, who live to ignore everyone but themselves, I’m Jean. Jean, _your_ boyfriend, the man you supposedly love. Are you honestly going to sit there and lie to me? Lie right through those pearly white teeth?” 

 

“I’m sorry...” he said, again, refusing to look at me. Instead he stared at the ground, where tiny ants were carrying small leaves and scurrying off to their homes. My hand reached out to Marco, my fingers gripped his chin and I moved it upwards, so he could finally look me in the eye. 

 

“Look at me, Marco. Look. At. Me.” I begged, I was beginning to grow impatient and urgent, and it was a sight I didn’t want Marco to see. 

 

“You want to know why I fell in love with you? Just in case you need to hear it right now,” he finally spoke, after I’d pulled my hand away, hiding it behind my back. “I fell in love with you because you’re not perfect.”

 

“Gee thanks,” I laughed, not helping it.

 

He laughed too, and I could see the tension we’d created slowly unwinding, “That’s not what I meant and you know it. It’s what I love about you, your imperfectness. Your tendency to overreact over the slightest things, how you let your parents treat you like shit but you take it, how you rarely tell me you love me but you show it instead because that’s just how you are. You’re not the strongest or the smartest and I think that’s wonderful. You’re one-hundred-percent human and that’s what I love most about you. The world needs more ‘Jean’s because you’re a rare breed and I wouldn’t ever want to lose you.”

 

“Woah...” I said, completely astonished. “Who talked about losing me? I’m not going anywhere Marco and I’ll kill the person who put that fucking thought into your head.”

 

“Do you remember,” he started, and I knew something was about to happen, something I didn’t want to happen. “Three years ago I came to your house, crying, shaking, like an idiot, and you asked me why I was crying but I didn’t tell you. You didn’t ask again so I let it go, and I didn’t tell you, because I wasn’t sure of my decision. I’m not saying I am now, but all that talk I told you back in the pool, about this being my inevitable fate, well I want to believe it. I want to believe this is the path for me and that you’ll support me through it.”

 

“Marco... you’re scaring me,” I finally said, the ache in my gut was way past unbearable and reaching a level that was borderline deadly.

 

“Jean... Ever since I was a kid my family’s been in the... well.. the military. My brother, he was in the military, he fought for his life, and he didn’t come back. And that’s why we moved here. I made up some story that we came here for a fresh start and I’m not saying I was lying but we came here because my parents needed to prepare me for this day. For me to make my own decision. And I’m not doing this for them or for me, I’m doing this for my brother. I know I never talked about him, let alone told you he existed, but he meant, and still means, a lot to me. Which is why...

 

“I’m joining the army.”

 

***

 

Tick tock, the clock makes a sound, a hand moves, a second goes by, a minute passes, ten minutes, an hour. Then there’s another tick and another tock. It’s not the clock this time, it’s my heart, it’s my pulse, it’s the blood rushing from my heart to my body to my muscles. An hourglass breaks in the back of my mind, sand is pouring, and I’m drowning, choking, not even capable of breathing. The hour is lost, I can’t get it back, the glass is broken and the shards have scattered everywhere. I see red, lots and lots of red. Is it blood? I ask myself. I don’t know, I answer back. 

 

_I’m joining the army._

 

The sand from the hourglass is lifted by the wind, swirling and twisting in the breeze, free from it’s lock in the glass incasement. And I have taken the sand’s place, I’m trapped in the glass, silent and waiting, and instead of sand there’s water and it’s thick and pasty and I’m sure it’s water until it turns red and I’m surrounded in a pool of blood. 

 

_I’m joining the army._

 

“Marco,” I whisper and then everything goes black.

 

 


End file.
